A Hero's Hardships
by 101Obsessions
Summary: No one ever said the life of a Hero was easy. But not even the Hero Princess is quite prepared for what she'll have to put up with in addition to saving the kingdom...
1. Intro

**_Still no inspiration for _Story of an Ex... , _so here's another Fable story in the making that I thought up this weekend._**

**_It's gonna be another long one, and I'm starting it right before I leave the country for a while :P _**

**_Character-building exercise, basically - about how Princess Rosalyn is not, at first, cut out for the life of a Hero. _**

**_Disclaimer: I own nada 'cept the usual two._**

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><p>Rosalyn had known the life of a Hero was full of hardships. It had to be, of course, that being part of a Hero's life – all the old tales would have been boring without the dangers, the inconveniences that the men and women of legend had to suffer. Her own mother's tale had been full of danger, unfortunate occurrences and hard decisions to make.<p>

So, as Walter and Jasper expected her to become a Hero, she wasn't expecting it to be easy.

But she still didn't expect the full extent of how difficult her life was going to become.


	2. Cold

**_I'll admit, much of the inspiration for this came from my own way of life. As an archaeologist, I'm no penpusher but I'm not Charles Atlas either. I hate many different forms of weather and physical excertion, ergo this story, where Heros have to deal with a hella lot of shit on top of their actual heroics._**

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><p>The first thing that Rosalyn came to truly hate about her new life was the cold.<p>

As a Princess, she'd been privy to all the luxuries the royal family could get, and a warm bed to sleep in under a well-built roof with a hot dinner in her stomach and Jasper to come and bid her goodnight, every night, all meant that the prospect of not having these things simply did not occur to her.

When she and Walter arrived at the Dweller Camp Cullis Gate, she had to bite her lip hard to stop herself yelping one of the coarser words she'd overheard the chefs yell whenever boiling food was spilled. Dog whimpered, pressing against her legs.

She'd glanced alongside at Walter, and was glad to see him shiver slightly, hear him curse under his breath about how blasted cold it was up in these parts. At least she wasn't imagining it.

Walter, however, didn't seem to have too much discomfort, neither did he notice hers, merely leading her along the dirt path, up the hill towards a small cluster of the bigger, brighter caravans. Rosalyn obediently stumbled along behind him, arms folded tightly over her chest.

If she weren't so cold, she would've been fascinated by her surroundings; the bright colours and fabrics of the Dwellers, the tattoos adorning those around her, their curious eyes on her; even the weather itself, the crystalline snowflakes that melted on her eyelashes and made the world a myriad of colours, her own breath rising up in mysterious clouds in front of her.

But she wasn't just cold, she was bloody freezing and snivelling with the starts of a chill, and truth be told, what with the cold and recent events, she didn't give a damn about the world around her at that moment.

Her misery threatened to drag her down into the mucky snow of the path, dark grey from countless footsteps, when she registered the voices. Dozens of conversations and muttered words around her, some aimed at her but most just angrily spat at the empty air.

"Please, miss, do you have any money?"

"Damn that Logan! I'd give him a piece of my mind...if I had the strength."

"We'd get rid of Logan if we weren't starving to death."

A child's voice. Rose looked down to see a little girl, clad in patchwork of different furs that was too big for her, holding up a roughly sewn doll.

"Please miss, could I swap my dolly for some food? She's really good, honest."

Rose stared down at the child, the swirling snowflakes temporarily forgotten. The doll barely resembled a human being, with a single eye of a broken blue bead dangling off of a scrap of red string – the other was long gone from the state of the other 'eye socket' – flaxen hair plastered to the fabric doll's head with the wet, the mouth a clumsy line of stitches.

Rose wished dearly that she had some food to give.

The girl did not linger long – as soon as she saw that the stranger didn't have any food, she wandered off towards the nearest fire, comforting her dolly softly in a child's voice. Rose watched her go, then looked around her, seeing the devastation for the first time.

Broken roofs of caravans. A meagre flame, the only source of heat. Stalls with their owners shivering nearby, nothing on the stands. Children hungry, not even whining, just wandering with a grim, resigned expression on their faces.

Rose had never felt so ashamed. The anger at herself and at her brother rose up again, even more fearsome now she could see the damage first hand, and for a second she almost felt warm. The anger flickered and died at her surprise, and she remembered she was wearing a practical and yet so impractical set of blouse and tights and she shivered again.

She looked around her, and the thought of the cold disappeared once more. With a deep breath, she realised what she had to do.

Walter turned to speak to the young Princess, only to find her fifty feet back from him, wandering around and talking to the locals, shaking hands, listening to stories. Dog was padding by her side, stumpy tail wagging as the Princess went down onto one knee to teach a child how to handshake.

He smiled. He'd make a Revolutionist out of her yet.

Rosalyn's smile was only half-real when Walter praised her later for her kindness and compassion. Shame lingered under the surface, shame at Logan's crimes and at her own selfishness. Yes, she was determined to help these people, to right the wrongs that her brother had caused. She needed to help this village, to give them food, shelter and gold.

And if the latter bought herself some warmer clothing, all the better.

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><p><strong><em>Yes, Rose is quite selfish at first. But no pretty little Princess is going to be 100% selfless when they've had everything they've ever asked for all their life, in addition to not actually knowing what the outside is like. Rose might be able to keep it mum now, but expect a few tantrumsbreakdowns later on when things start getting too much._**


	3. Pain

The second thing Rosalyn hated about Hero life was the physical exertion.

Fencing lessons and training with Dog aside, Rosalyn had never needed to work physically in her life. Her life had been spent in academic lessons with Jasper, lying around her room reading books and playing chess, walking in the gardens with Elliot for company…

Hero life was much more physical. Making the difficult and slippery journey to Brightwall Village from the Dweller Camp had been hard, especially as she'd been forced to fight off wolves along the way. Fighting her way through the haunted vault underneath Brightwall University had been just as difficult, and more than once she'd been forced to lean against a pillar or wall to catch her breath.

But cleaving her way through the Mercenary Camp and having to battle Captain Saker himself, that really took the biscuit. Sweat was pouring down her back and she was heaving for breath as she stumbled into the arena, knowing full well she looked about as threatening as a mouse. Her stolen mercenary gear was slipping off, and those inked-on tattoos she'd bought were melting off of her skin. Dog was panting, leaning against her legs as he tried to catch his breath.

As Saker jumped down in front of her, laughing, her legs felt like jelly. Her arms felt so heavy she could hardly lift them, hardly lift the silver blade in her hands to defend herself, let alone attack.

But if she stopped now, it would be all over.

The fight was long, and exhausting. Dog, too, had been helping her, ripping the throats out of any and all mercenaries that dared interfere with the battle between the princess and the captain. Rose had been forced to keep switching weapons – her arms could no longer lift the blade, and the magic had drained her, so then she had to switch to her pistol, praying the fight would end before she ran out of ammunition. Thankfully, it did. Just as she thought she might die of fatigue alone, Saker fell to his knees and the cheers and jeers of his men fell deadly silent.

Rose backed off, her sweaty fingers gripping the handle of the pistol for dear life. She squinted through her bangs at the fallen man cautiously. Was this some kind of trick?

But no. When Saker started to beg for his life, she knew it wasn't a trick. The defeated tone in his voice, the resigned chuckle when he admitted that the men would respect either decision, death or mercy, he sounded like a man with no choice left.

She stepped forward, the gun in her hand.

Saker flinched. A pause, then Rosalyn slapped him, hard. The slap rang out in the makeshift arena, causing the few surviving mercs to flinch. Even Dog whimpered. The Princess glared at her prisoner, then held out a hand for him to take.

The ex-captain looked astonished, but took it. Rosalyn pulled the man to his feet, then smiled. It was more a grim, tired smile than her usual kindness, but Saker seemed to understand. His gruff thanks and pledge to her cause made the corners of her mouth lift even higher, but in all honesty, she was too exhausted to care.

Jasper's voice echoed in her head as he congratulated her, told her she was all the Hero of her mother and more, but she hardly heard it. Her fingers slipped into her pocket for the Guild Seal that would allow her to teleport back to Brightwall, to a warm beer at the inn, a hot bath and a comfortable bed.

Anything else, her tired mind thought, could go hang.

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><p><em><strong>Would like to clarify that my theory for the merc. tattoos is that Rose had them painted on as opposed to actually tattooed into her skin, hence why they started to come off when she sweats in the battle.<strong>_

_**I always wondered how those tattoos were removed so easily in the games. Magic, I s'pose.**_


	4. Dirt

The third thing Rosalyn detested about her life was the dirt.

You couldn't escape it, even in clean towns like Brightwall. Even there, dust would accumulate on your boots and skin and clothes from the roads, or from the book if you spent too much time inside Brightwall University.

Rosalyn had despaired at the state her lovely Princess clothes kept ending up in, so eventually she decided that enough was enough and went to the local boutique, deciding to spend some of her reward money (from winning the support of three separate communities to her cause) on a more hard-wearing outfit. She'd already sold those hideous mercenary clothes. Above everything, they were uncomfortable.

She'd chosen the outfit of a highwaywoman, dyed royal-blue, hard-wearing, practical, and yet still will just the amount of frills and mystique to please her inner vanity. If she was going to parade around as a Hero, she needed to look good doing it.

Of course, they still got filthy. Just stepping into the Monorail station had coated her in brick dust, and when they had to take that unfortunate detour thanks to the actions of those bloody Hobbes, she was forced to trudge through mud up to her ankles in the damp bottom of the cave.

Dog wasn't helping, by prancing her to her excitedly whenever he spotted a treasure, then turning and dashing away, both actions splashing her with wet mud. Rosalyn just sighed and concentrated on her battles. At least she looked the part now – doubly so, she thought smugly, as she fired three neat shots that blasted one Hobbe to pieces. She decided she liked this gun. Especially as it meant no more movement then aiming and pulling the trigger. No more wearing herself out on minions, no sir.

The journey through the caves towards Walter's exit was fairly uneventful after the dramatic monorail crash, although at one point she had been distracted halfway through a battle by the yell of 'Why don't you come over here, love, and _show me the goods!'_

A shot had quickly dispatched that gnome, but unfortunately it also loosened the lichen covering the stone it had been sat on, showering her in moss. She sighed, turning back to blasting the rest of the Hobbes. Could this get any worse?

As she and Walter stepped out into the night and she saw the path ahead of her, she groaned aloud. Yes it could. Walter was planning to lead her through a bloody _swamp!_

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><p><strong><em>Poor, vain little Rosalyn. But a Princess would prefer to stay clean, no?<em>**

**_Oh, wait 'til she gets to the Shifting Sands. That's going to be a nightmare for her...all that sand everywhere!_**


	5. Fear

**_Okay, people, this is going to be the last upload for a little while as I'm moving out o' this old house into a flat in a different country for my uni studies in three days time, so it's going to be very much panic-packing and unpacking and getting used to my new life._**

**_So, in the meantime, have Rosalyn having a freak-out about Hollow Men. :P_**

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><p><strong><strong>The fourth thing Rosalyn came to hate was not something she disliked as much as something she feared.

She'd never been truly scared before. Frightened, yes, as a child by the stories her mother told her of banshees and the Spire, and by the crash and boom of late-night thunderstorms. A feeling of dread, in her stomach, when Logan had forced her to make that terrible choice, the day she was forced to become a Hero. Chills through her veins at the dreadful battles she'd faced.

But all of this had quickly been buried underneath a feeling of determination, a sort of resigned feeling, to ride out the storm – literal or metaphorical – and get through to the other side.

Mourningwood Fort was the first time she'd been truly, deeply terrified for her life.

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><p>The walk through the swamp had been uncomfortable, with irritating ambushes by Hobbes, but more annoying than particularly scary. The welcome at the Fort itself had been rather pleasant in comparison – the cheerful greetings, the meeting with the Major, the big grin on the handsome Captain's face. Even though it was only a rundown old ruin in the middle of a swamp, with tired-looking soldiers on half-rations, meagre supplies and freshly dug graves, Rosalyn felt more accepted here than any place since her quest began. She would have happily spent the evening drinking beer with the soldiers, laughing and joking and maybe talking a little with that rascal, Ben Finn, someone who she could tell instantly was a flirt, and have her first real rest since her moonlit flit a month or so ago.<p>

But she realised quickly that that wasn't going to be the case. Major Swift's face had turned solemn as he discussed the Hollow Men attacks with Walter. Walter, too, had looked exceptionally grim. Rosalyn had tucked her red hair – it was getting long again, she would have to get it cut somewhere soon – behind her ears as she listened in on the conversation.

If she hadn't been trying so hard to eavesdrop, maybe she would have noticed Dog's odd behaviour. The boxer was cowering behind her legs, ears flattened to his skull, lips curled back in a silent snarl. Rose didn't notice.

When Major Swift and Captain Finn agreed she should try out the mortar to destroy the first flank of the Hollow Men, she'd smiled grimly, but muttered quietly to the Captain, who went to take her arm and show her to the mortar, up on the ramparts.

"I won't be a moment."

She stepped quickly over to Walter, murmuring in his ear just loud enough for the old knight to hear.

"What exactly _are _Hollow Men?"

She'd heard the term in her mothers' stories, but had never really paid attention to their description. She'd just liked to hear the parts where the old Queen had defeated hordes of enemies and fallen in love so many times.

Walter glanced at her sidelong. He, too, kept his voice low.

"Exactly as your mother described them, dear. They are the bodies of the dead, inhabited by angry wisps. They've got little brains or purpose other than destroying things, but are bloody hard to kill. Keep that in mind, lass."

Rosalyn brightened.

"You mean, they're skeletons? I faced some in the Reliquary!"

Walter didn't seem to share in her enthusiasm.

"Those would have been the ghosts and bones of scholars, weak adventurers. Here, this is a battlefield. You're facing the wraiths of soldiers, and bloody good 'uns at that."

Refusing to feel down about this, the young Princess turned back in Ben's direction and, with a grin, gestured that she'd follow. They walked up to the ramparts together, with the blond soldier quickly outlining their position and how it wasn't _that _dangerous to use the mortar, all in an upbeat, cheerful tone. Rosalyn thought privately she could grow to quite like this man.

As they approached the mortar, balanced precariously on a crumbling rampart facing the hill of trenches, a soldier straightened up and grinned, revealing several missing teeth. His head, arms and one leg were also bandaged, and he had a bloodied strip of cloth covering one eye. Rose was polite by nature – she was raised, after all, with the etiquette of a Princess – but she couldn't help blinking in alarm.

Ben laughed.

"Don't worry, we don't all end up like him. This 'ere's Private Jammy, so called because he's the jammiest bugger in the brigade!"

The man called Jammy laughed along.

"I've been wounded 724 times and I'm still standing!"

Rosalyn attempted to smile, but it came out more as a vague grimace. Jammy didn't seem to mind, merely directing her to the mortar. She knelt by it, figuring out by feel where she was supposed to put her hands. Dog stood behind her, beside Ben, who kept giving her helpful tips on how not to blow herself up.

Jammy looked out over the trenches, and pointed to some scarecrows that stood lopsidedly in the mud.

"Okay, let's start you out on these practice dummies, okay? I'll be your loader, and you just take aim, light the fuse and BOOM!"

Rosalyn nodded. She heard Ben go quiet behind her as she carefully adjusted the mortar, squinted in the direction of the scarecrow, then lit the fuse. Her first shot missed by about a foot, merely singeing the torn scraps of cloth on the figure. Cursing softly under her breath, Rosalyn adjusted her aim.

Her second shot was perfect. Jammy whooped, clapping excitedly, and Rose heard Ben whistle appreciatively behind her. She just hoped he was admiring her aim and not her backside.

Feeling more confident, Rose quickly dispatched the second scarecrow, grinning as Jammy cheered her on. He pointed to a third figure.

"Alright, let's take the last one ou- wait a minute…" the man's happy-go-lucky personality dropped for a moment, leaving the man sounding confused, "I don't remember setting this one up…"

It happened so fast, Rose had only time to gasp. Dog barked, Jammy yelped and Ben hissed in annoyance as a blue wisp shot from out of nowhere, striking into the roughly human figure up against the wooden slats. Only, it wasn't a scarecrow this time – glowing green eyes flashed to life, and the skeleton ripped itself free from the poles, a Hollow Man stumbling towards them. Rosalyn could see at once it was much bigger and faster than those she'd fought in the vaults. Her heart sank as she realised that those were mere toothpicks compared to this. As they watched, more wisps flew into the ground and within moments dozens of bony hands were clawing their way out of the earth.

Ben swore loudly, one of Walter's worst words, then turned to shout down into the fort.

"Here they come again! Hollow Man attack!"

There came the sounds of scrambling, men rushing for their weapons, annoyed curses and shouts as men dropped everything to defend the fort. Ben turned back to Rose, his normally cheerful face grim.

"Okay, you two, give 'em hell, for as long as you can."

Jammy saluted.

"Yes, sir!"

Rose turned back to the mortar, nervously wiping sweat from her palms. This could get interesting.

It wasn't so bad when she was fighting them off using the mortar. Everytime her aim took out a large group of skeletons at once, she felt a rush of pride that was intensified by Jammy's encouraging cheer. Again and again, she fired, until the air was thick with thrown-up bone dust and dried mud.

But eventually, even the mortar couldn't hold back the tide. For every Hollow Man she took out, two more sprung up in its place. Too many were slipping beneath the aim of her mortar – just out of reach, getting ever closer to the Fort.

A yell from down below.

"It's no good! You two, get down here! They're in the bloody Fort!"

Abandoning the mortar, the two drew their guns and leapt from the rampart, straight into the fray. It wasn't so bad as she'd feared, this fight. Although the Hollow Men were terrifyingly fast, sprinting at her with hate in their green-flame eyes and raising their rusted weapons to strike, as long as her aim held true she could floor the creatures before they came too close to her.

Her arm snapped back and forth between her opponents, her new and powerful augmented pistol quickly taking out even adversary in a single shot. Ben Finn grinned at her a thanks as she exploded the skull of a Hollow Man just behind him. She grinned back, fleetingly, before her next victim came into range.

Despite the soldiers she could see falling under multiple hits to either side of her, the tide was slowly turning in their favour. The Hollow Men might outnumber them ten to one, but the soldiers were more skilled. Even so, there were losses.

The second wave had taken out Private Jammy. Rosalyn had seen it, right before her eyes, her scream echoing that of Ben Finn as a blade from one Hollow Man had sent Jammy flying through the air, dead before he even hit the ground. Ben Finn had descended upon the Hollow Man instantly, leaving only a pile of broken bones behind.

Finally, the last Hollow Man fell, its wisp dissolving into the air, and Rosalyn slumped, exhausted. She looked around at her fellow soldiers, noting that apart from herself, Dog, Walter and a few of the Brigade, all were badly wounded or dead. She started towards the nearest wounded soldier, an intention of healing him with magic in her mind, when a yell from by the graves snapped her head back around.

A fat blue wisp had burst into the Fort, and it zoomed over several heads before making a beeline for the fresh grave of Lieutenant Simmons. Walter started forward, perhaps with some mad idea of stopping it, but too late – giant hands ripped up through the dirt, scattering bugs everywhere.

Rosalyn stared across at the Hollow Man as it freed itself of its tomb and stood before them. It was huge, almost seven feet tall, the gruesome effect of the wisp rotting the flesh away before her very eyes. A gaping mouth fell open, baring grimy, blackened teeth. She took a step backwards as it held up its weapons – two huge, razor-sharp swords that were about as long as she was tall.

Yells around her.

"Lt. Simmons, I thought I gave you strict orders to stay dead!"

The Hollow Man took a massive step forward, then roared, a terrible, guttural sound. Ben Finn yelled out.

"Doesn't anyone follow orders anymore!"

There were no more words after that. Lt. Simmons screamed again, an otherworld scream, and wisps had flown from that hideous mouth to the ground around them. And then the Hollow Man did something, something that no mere soldier could've done – lightning sparked around him, and a shockwave erupted from the dead man's feet that knocked everyone to the ground.

Rose lay there a moment, stunned, but at the sound of running, heavy footsteps she scrambled upright, Dog leaping up beside her. To her horror, none of the others were moving – not even Walter, the one person she thought could possibly take on such a beast.

And Simmons was running straight at her.

She would have liked to say that she faced the terror with all the bravery of Heroes before her, with all the fire of her mother, and brought the beast to ground within minutes. The reality, however, was that she was simply too terrified.

With a scream, she balked and ran, Dog pounding at her heels. The heavy footsteps behind her came closer, roars of anger, and as she ran she registered half a dozen quieter hisses that told her other Hollow Men were present and also chasing her. She merely increased her speed.

Finding the entrance to the Fort blocked by rubble, she changed direction and dashed off to her left, screaming as a shower of musket balls thudded into the ground behind her feet. She dodged crates, bodies, rubble, diving across the staircase, desperate to get away. But no matter how fast she ran, the Hollow Men were catching up.

A blade slashed in the corner of her eye and she dodged, the sword just slashing through the fabric of her sleeve as opposed to her arm and side. She span around, finding the lesser Hollow Men right on top of her, and fired a series of blind shots at them, only succeeding in bringing down a few. Dog snarled and barked, but couldn't get close enough to launch himself onto one of the Hollow Men and bring it to the ground.

Rosalyn stumbled backwards, firing more shots, bringing down more of her adversaries. As the last lesser Hollow Man fell into a heap on the ground, she raised her pistol to point at the massive figure of Lt. Simmons, her powerful weapon suddenly looking perfectly useless against so large a creature.

Her shots were useless. Bullets bounced off of his blades, or went straight through the gaping maw and out the back of his head, but he kept on coming. He only paused a moment after one shot went through the green fire of his eye, making Rosalyn believe for one moment she'd found his weakness – but no, he merely screamed again, summoning more Hollow Men to chase her.

Rose took off again. If she stood still, she was dead. As she ran, she tried desperately to fight the panic in her mind to think of a plan, any plan, any way of defeating the monster that screamed after her. Her blade flashed around her as Hollow Men drew close, and otherworld screams and hisses filled the air as she sent wisps back to the netherworld.

She knew she had no chance if she tried to defeat all the lesser Hollow Men before going for Simmons himself – he'd just summon more before she could get close. She stumbled over Jammy's body before running on. No, her only way would have to be taking him head on, and praying she wasn't stabbed in the back by his bodyguards.

Steeling herself, she changed direction suddenly, ploughing through the Hollow Men that had been tailing her and aiming directly for the imposing figure of Simmons himself. He roared, foul breath attacking her face, and she almost passed out from fear alone. She raised her blade, and struck again and again, ignoring the pain in her arms with every hit, just desperately trying to kill this _thing._

She felt stunned, unable to believe it, when she finally stood over the remains of the giant Hollow Man, her arms and blade slick with both her blood and the cold half-congealed mass that had been in Simmons' veins, his death scream mingled with the hisses of the other Hollow Men, who had dissolved upon his death, ringing in her ears.

Movement out of the corner of her eye. She sagged, knowing she could never defeat more enemies, not when she so drained, so scared. Dog leant against her legs, panting for breath. Someone was calling her name.

Rosalyn had glanced up and only vaguely registered the blurry figures in red running toward her before she finally fainted.

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><p>After that day, Rose was never really the same again. She had recovered quickly, made her promise, laughed and celebrated along with Ben and the other soldiers, mourned the loss of those who had been killed, and moved on with Walter in the same sorts of fashion as she would've before the incident.<p>

But she could no longer handle the dark. She would twitch at the smallest of noises, jump at the hiss of a cat, so similar to the hiss of a Hollow Man. She couldn't sleep at night unless she had her back to the wall and her pistol in her hand, and even then nightmares haunted her. No one could comfort her.

And every time she fought a Hollow Man after that, her heart would sink and her hands begin to shake and she'd be more scared than ever before.

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><p><em><strong>I'll admit, this was my technique for fighting Lt. Simmons the first time; 'oh crap oh crap oh crap *running in circles through the Fort* Okay, take out the little guys first - OH CRAP HE SUMMONS MORE oh crap oh crap oh crap *uses magic and pistols, Lt. Simmons finally dies* Oh thank god! *almost faints myself*'<strong>_


	6. Shame

**_I've got a few hours before my lectures, so I thought I'd tidy up this fanfic a little. Last chapter, really short, whoo!_**

**_Includes foreshadowing for life as a monarch, although technically the events in this fic 'finish' a few weeks after Mourningwood Fort._**

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><p>But the thing Rosalyn hated the most about her new life, the most about everything that had happened since she had run for her life with a knight and a butler in the dead of night, was the shame.<p>

The shame of knowing that the cause of all this suffering was her own blood, her brother. That in a few short years, he had changed the country from the cultured, diverse and healthy kingdom created by their mother to a crippled, dying world where children starved to death on cold, dirty streets.

The humiliation that she felt every time someone recognised her for who she was, the Princess, the sister of the hated king. Some people didn't accept her as the Revolutionary leader, not at first. They spat at her, hissed insults at her. She hadn't cared before, hadn't stepped out before, so why now? Why had she left it so long?

The truth? She hadn't known. She'd never bothered to find out. She had seen the black smoke of Bowerstone Industrial from the safety of the Castle gardens, turned away from it because it was ugly and continued to play in her little bit of paradise, continued to live her pretty little dollhouse life with her pretty little friends and pretty little castle.

Rosalyn was disgusted at herself. Perhaps that was why she cut her hair short, dyed it brilliant red at first opportunity, took to wearing men's clothes and carrying the biggest, ugliest swords and pistols she could find. She didn't want to just be the Princess anymore.

She didn't know that the biggest feeling of disgrace would come much later, after she had fought and killed and watched her friends die around her to become Queen, at the trial of her 'beloved' brother. For on that day, she would finally understand why he had done this.

And afterwards, she would be sorely tempted to carry on his 'tradition'.

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><p><em><strong>So, did you like? Sorry if this last chapter seems rushed, I didn't really know how to put it down into words without repeating the word 'shame' over and over and over.<strong>_


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